The Masque of the Baron
by calliarcale
Summary: A Watcher assigned to study possible historical Immortals encounters one of them in Paris - only to discover that he's not an Immortal at all. He's a Time Lord. And there's something sinister underground... Note: this story was written in 1996 and originally crossposted on the Paul McGann Estrogen Brigade and Peter Wingfield Fan Club mailing lists. Oh yeah, I was a fangirl!
1. Episode 1

**EPISODE ONE: in which the main characters are introduced**

Alone again. They all left him, in the end, when they'd grown up or grown tired - or when they died. The TARDIS seemed emptier without Ace's knapsack stuffed in a corner of the console room. It certainly seemed quieter.

He'd reconfigured the interior space six times already, and fancied that it was as close to perfect as it was ever going to get. "Come on, Doctor," he muttered to himself. "It's time to move on"

His hands flickered over the worn brass controls with the skill of centuries of practice, setting the TARDIS' new destination. He paused on the final setting, sighed and ran his hands through his brown hair. So many years, so many deaths, so much vast Time that now those hands were beginning to age. This body wasn't going to last much longer. "Brave heart, Doctor."

He remembered. Tegan, now, as he'd first seen her, bursting into the old console room, furious at having become lost in the infinite corridors of the TARDIS. Tegan, demanding to be returned to Heathrow Airport. Tegan rescuing Gallifrey with vital information. Tegan staring wild-eyed and terrified at him before fleeing into the streets of London.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and remembered another friend, Romana. "Paris," he had told her, "is the only place in the universe where one can relax entirely." Opening his eyes, only barely aware of what he was doing, he set the coordinates for late 20th Century Paris.

* * *

Although the musty smell of dust had somewhat settled back into the book, Terri sneezed. The sound echoed through the high-ceilinged library, causing her collegue - a twentysomething researcher named Adam Pierson - to look up, startled.

"Bless you," he said.

Terri rubbed her nose superfluously, grinning sheepishly at him. "Sorry about that. Allergies, you know."

Adam smiled sympathetically and then returned to the text he was reading. Terri watched him for a few minutes, under the pretense of digging a kleenex and antihistamine out of her satchel. He would read the same passage over and over, then furiously scribble notes on a notepad. Occasionally, he would refer to a spiral-bound notebook for a few seconds, ponder the text, and then scribble more notes. Terri quickly realized that he was translating one of the older Chronicles into a modern language, probably French or English.

The heavy oaken doors of the library creaked reluctantly, and Terri turned sheepishly back to her own work. Footsteps rang loudly in the accoustically awful room, announcing another researcher. Terri kept her eyes studiously on her own work.

This was to be her main contribution to the Watchers. Of all the Immortals, she found herself most drawn to those who represented unsolved mysteries. Immortals dead or disappeared for centuries, Immortals who left only vague rumors, legends, unsubstantiated anecdotes, and a few incomplete Chronicles.

The most impressive of what Terri liked to call "apocryphal Immortals" was Methos. Unfortunately, Adam, having been a Watcher somewhat longer than Terri, had already taken that choice assignment. And anyway, Methos wasn't quite apocryphal enough for Terri. There were documented sightings dating up to the French Revolution, and reams of undocumented evidence since then.

Terri had searched long and hard for suitably apocryphal Immortals. The notebooks in her satchel were filled with names, rumors, references, and possibilities. She had already discounted the Calleach as too well documented, despite that long-lived woman's mysterious disappearance, as well as the numerous Watchers found with their throats ritually cut by the Calleach's druidic devotees. She had also discounted the holy man K'Anpo as not an Immortal at all - K'Anpo, a Tibetan monk, was described in five radically different ways by five independant Watchers.

But there were a few that kept coming back to her. One in particular, called by many titles but never by his given name, even had his own Chronicle, as well as erroneous references in half a dozen others, including the Calleach's. Apparently, another Watcher had tried to piece this man's story together roughly 250 years ago. The dusty tome in front of her was the result of those efforts.

There was no name on the Chronicle, which was a large part of why it had been ignored for so long. - No longer, thought Terri. She slid her notes on the Doctor (as he was so often called) out of her satchel and laid them out alongside the tome.

First she flipped to the list of aliases, neatly penned in the front leaf of the book. Doctor was first, followed by Healer, Traveller, Stranger, Wise One, Teacher, and other, similar titles. At one point, he was even coincidentally referred to as Watcher. There were also names apparently drawn from mythology - Shamash in ancient Babylon, Merlin in post-Roman-Empire Britanny, Coyote in the old Navajo nation, and so on for quite some distance down the page. Cross-checking with her notes, she found only a few discrepancies. Her list was somewhat longer, including names that had no known roots, such as Ka Faraq Gatri, yet did not include some of the more chilling names that the book included. Hunter, Time's Champion, Doom-Bringer, the Evil One, and even Death.

Terri had the feeling that even with the information in the Chronicle, her list was far from complete. This made the Doctor her perfect subject: a truly apocryphal Immortal.

"Still at your apocrypha, Terri?" She looked up, startled, to see Adam looking across at her. He had to repeat himself before she answered.

"I'm sorry, I . . . uh, I'm afraid I got a bit caught up in my work." She smiled apologetically. "I know it's not terribly conventional or anything, but . . ."

He smiled winningly at her. "I understand completely. Many of my own colleagues look down on book work."

She nodded ruefully. "But you understand what it's like. I mean, you've got the best apocryphal Immortal of them all. Methos."

"Yes, it is quite a project," he said.

"No one knows where he is or even what he looks like. Heck," she said, "any of us could have met him without ever knowing."

"That's true."

"So you see where I'm coming from when I chose to research the same sort of thing."

She paused, waiting for a response. When Adam simply sat there, looking confused, she continued, "You do see where I'm coming from, don't you?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm afraid I don't quite see what you're getting at."

"Curiosity! It's no fun just staring at an Immortal while he makes breakfast every day. It's no challenge working out what kind of a credit rating he's got. There's no mystery in it. And if were not in this for mystery, what are we here for?"

Adam finally nodded. "I'm with you on that, Terri." Suddenly, he stood up, walked across to Terri, and peered across at her notes. "And have you found one yet? An 'apocryphal Immortal' worthy of your curiosity?"

She frowned at him. "Well, I didn't think it sounded quite that pretentious." Adam apologized. "But, anyway, yes I have. This one."

Adam squinted at the Chronicle. "This can't have been touched for centuries. How can that be? They've all been moved so many times."

"It was kept, untouched, in a family library for nearly two centuries. It's sad, really." He nodded in response, reached out and turned the page. Terri watched him run his finger down the page, halting at a peculiar patch of script. "Ah, yes. According to a fragmentary account in an archeological survey of a Roman ruin, the insciption - transcribed here - was made by a mysterious friend of Nero's. Nobody could ever translate it. However, the same inscription shows up in several other places. Here, let me show you." Reaching across in front of Adam, Terri began flipping rapidly through the Chronicle, coming to a transcript taken from the Calleach Chronicle. "Here's an identical inscription, this time stamped onto a letter, written to a Professor Amelia Rumphart."

Adam peered over Terri's shoulder at the letter. The inscription was indeed stamped, next to "Cordially, the Doctor." The entire letter was a bit peculiar, written in a loose, flowery hand which wandered over the page with no particular direction in mind. The drift of the letter seemed to be that this Doctor had very much enjoyed meeting Professor Rumphart, although it was a pity about Miss Fay. "Who is Miss Fay?" he asked Terri.

"The Calleach," she replied. "She disappeared immediately before this letter was written."

Adam nodded in response. They both knew very well what it meant when two Immortals went off together and only one returned. "But, " he said, a curious tinge to his voice that Terri was unable to pin down, "by all accounts, the Calleach was too cunning to have just walked into something like that. You really think she's dead?"

Terri looked up, surprised. "Of course," she said, automatically, then trailing off as she met Adam's eye. There was something there which disturbed her. "What?" she asked.

He did not answer for several seconds. "I seem to remember . . . . No, never mind." He shook his head as if to clear it. "Have you had lunch yet? I'm afraid I've been focusing rather more on Methos than myself." He grinned peculiarily.

Terri raised an eyebrow at him, but agreed to lunch anyway.

* * *

In the middle of the brilliant day, a spot of darkness found its way to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Tourists elbowed around the spot of somber blackness, unaware of its presence, seeking only a good view. At the center of the darkness was a dark man. He reacted to the tourists with nothing more than a faint grin at the corners of his mouth.

The dark man was pleased. The people of Paris had become if anything more cosmopolitan than the last time. Everywhere he looked, he saw printed journals with beautiful colors. Everyone could read, which was perhaps the greatest departure from his last experience of Paris.

No, he corrected himself. It was the wonderful computers which were so different. Information! The dark man's grin broadened with pleasure. He'd found it most enjoyable to manipulate the curious machines, causing them to give back the information he wanted. He chuckled out loud, causing a young American tourist to stare peculiarily at him.

"Don't worry, little one," he said in Old French, knowing the young man would not understand. "You at least may escape in time."

(c) 1996, Kirstin Jones (née Beall)/Calli Arcale, all rights reserved except those granted under terms of service


	2. Episode 2

**EPISODE TWO: in which the main characters meet some other people**

A sky-blue Citroën honked angrily at the Doctor as he darted across the street. The driver cursed creatively at his diminishing form. Ordinarily, the Doctor would have found the string of expletives amusing. Now he found it tedious.

Following the footsteps of his last journey, the Doctor wandered the streets of Paris. After fifteen minutes of walking, he arrived at the Place de la Concorde. And he remembered.

The tumbrils, clattering across the cobblestones. The guillotine in the place now occupied by the obelisk, its blade rising and falling, severing the heads of the innocent. Their blood running in the gutters as thick as new rain.

The Doctor shuddered. It had been a very long time since he'd seen the French Revolution. His first incarnation, in fact. But the intervening centuries had brought him no nearer to forgetting. He'd been powerless then to stop it. Or had he? It was growing harder and harder to find the razor-edge balance between the Laws of Time and simple compassion.

The Doctor's past was full of deaths and lies. He saw no reason to assume that his future would be any different. Indeed, he saw an excellent reason to support the opposite case.

He remembered. The Valeyard, playing the role of prosecution for the Time Lords in the Doctor's most recent trial. The Valeyard, charging the Doctor with genocide. The Valeyard, admitting that he was a potential future incarnation of the Doctor himself.

Shaking himself back into the present, the Doctor considered his immediate options. "The first thing," he said aloud, "would be to find a cup of tea." A young couple stared at him. He doffed his hat politely to them, glad to react to something external that wasn't trying to kill him, as was more often the case.

As the couple moved on, shaking their heads, the Doctor went through his pockets for change. Coming up with enough battered coins to buy tea, he turned purposefully towards a café which he remembered very well from his visit with Romana.

* * *

Terri sipped thoughtfully at an enormous cup of café au lait, grateful for its warmth. Adam, meanwhile, was attacking a chicken crèpe with gusto across the table. Terri had, at Adam's request, driven them to this small, somewhat untidy café in the center of Paris. "No one," he was saying to her, "can make a proper crèpe these days. Except here." He poked his fork in the air to indicate the café.

Terri smiled hesitantly back, rearranging her purse on the unoccupied third chair at their table. She'd had a hell of a time getting her little rented Peugeot into its parking space and was still feeling jumpy. "I'm not a tremendous expert on French cuisine, I'm afraid."

He smiled cheerfully back. "That's all right! I'm sure you'll be quite taken with it in no time at all!"

Terri smiled back at him, unsure of what to say. - Damn, she thought. I wish I were better at making small-talk.

She was rescued by the entrance of a most peculiar individual to the cafÃ©. A diminutive, middle-aged man had entered the cafÃ©. He wore = a cream linen suit, a straw hat, and a sweater that appeared to be covered with question marks.

Terri almost dropped her cafÃ© au lait. She gasped. Startled, Ada= m looked up at her. "What is it, Terri?"

She carefully set her cup down on its saucer and leaned across the table. "See that man?" She indicated the newcomer. Adam nodded. "That's him."

"Who?"

She made a face. "You know!" she hissed. "My subject."

Frowning, Adam glanced across at the stranger, who was conversing in rapid French with the patron and gesticulating with his question-mark umbrella. As he turned back to Terri, he shook his head, smiling. "No, that can't be him."

"Why not?"

"Just take my word for it."

She frowned at him. "You haven't been studying this guy. He is frequently described as wearing question marks." Adam shut up. "Who else would wear question marks?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, Terri, " he said before returning his attention to his lunch. Annoyed and unwilling to show it, Terri did the same.

She jumped and nearly lost her coffee again when she heard a vaguely Scottish voice politely ask her, "Excuse me, but may I borrow this chair?"

She looked up. Smiling charmingly at her from his modest height was the man she strongly suspected of being the Doctor. "Um, uh, that is, ah . . ." she stammered. She looked across at Adam for help, but he just sat there, beaming fiendishly at her. Looking back at the Scotsman, she said, "yeah, uh, yeah, sure!"

The man pulled the extra chair out and moved it to the next table over, which was unoccupied. This caused Terri's purse to tumble out onto the floor, spilling its contents. "Oh, dear," said the man, and bent to the floor, picking up the minutia of Terri's life and putting them neatly back in the purse, apologizing profusely.

When he had finished, the strange man handed the purse back to Terri. "I am sorry, madam. Most abjectly sorry." He doffed his hat to her. "Allow me to introduce myself: I'm the Doctor." He extended his hand to her.

Terri was dumbstruck. This really *was* the mysterious Doctor, irrefutably. So she couldn't go introducing herself to him. No, not at all! She looked over to Adam for support, but he looked just as surprised, if not more. "Hi, er . . . hello?" she ventured, extending her hand as well. The Doctor grinned and shook it. "I'm Terri Johnson."

"Charmed to meet you, my dear!" He doffed his hat again and then turned to Adam. "And you are . . .?" he continued, extending his hand once more.

Adam shook his hand, a curious expression on his face. "Adam Pierson."

"Splendid!" said the Doctor. "Well, I musn't hang about bothering you! I do apologize for knocking your purse down. I didn't mean to." And with that, the Doctor turned around, sat down, and became extraordinarily interested in the menu.

"Well," said Terri. Adam did not reply, but stared curiously at the Doctor.

* * *

"Just shut up," Terri snapped.

"Well, I'm not the one who lost him," Adam replied.

"I said, SHUT UP!" shouted Terri. They were standing together in the Touilleries Gardens trying to work out where the Doctor had disappeared to. They had been arguing for the better part of ten minutes. The unfortunate thing was that Adam was absolutely right - Terri was the one who'd lost the Doctor.

"Look, Terri," he said. She shot him a warning glance, but he did not stop. "We'll find him again. Why don't we go get some supper? We've been tracking him for hours."

Terri sighed. She knew that a full stomach would do her the world of good. Staring off into the diminishing sunlight, she gritted her teeth and accepted that Adam was absolutely right. "Okay. Dinner it is."

So together they set off in search of a café. It didn't take long - Paris is nothing if not a good place to eat. Unfortunately, given their hunger and lack of money, the first suitable place they found was a small café that was being battered about by a jazz group that had tried much too hard to mate jazz and heavy metal. They had done so largely by the use of amplifiers, which had not gone over well with the café's proprietor. This was their last night, and they were trying to make up for it by sheer noise.

After a time, to Terri's extreme relief, the band took a break to let their PA system recover. "At last!" she breathed.

Adam nodded. He had ordered fish, which was bothering Terri a great deal. In France, it seemed, it was appropriate to serve fish with heads intact.

"How can you eat that?" she asked.

"Easy," he said. "Like this." And he started eating. Terri shook her head, avoiding the sight of the dead fish's eye.

"That is so gross, Adam."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Why? I've eaten stranger things." And he dove back into the fish.

Terri shuddered. "Yuck." And she dug into her own dinner: a simple bowl of French onion soup. "Now French onion soup, on the other hand . . . mm-mm good!"

Adam frowned at her. "Actually, it's called 'Gratinée des Halles,' not French onion . . . soup . . . ," and he trailed off, staring over Terri's shoulder at the door.

"What is it?" she asked. Adam did not answer, but merely continued to stare at the door, an curiously blank expression on his face. It was almost as though he'd slipped on a mask to hide behind.

Curious, Terri turned towards the door. And gaped at the figure standing there.

A tall man stood in the doorway, eclipsing the street light. He wore a long black overcoat despite the summer's heat, the lapels turned up to obscure his face. There was a darkness surrounding the man, a blackness that seemed to hang about his features. The dark man swept into the café, drawing every eye to his preternatural presence.

Terri sat frozen as the man walked - no, _sauntered_ \- ever closer and closer to her table. She turned slowly as he came, only enough to keep her eyes firmly glued to this curious figure.

He stopped at her table. Terri began to shiver uncontrollably. She felt as though the ambient temperature had just dropped seven or eight degrees. Perhaps the dark man noticed her, for he turned and looked her in the eye. He held her gaze in an iron grip for some time. Terri noticed that one of his eyes was green, while the other was black.

"Tu n'es pas important," he said abruptly. Reality suddenly snapped back into place for Terri, and she was left feeling rather silly, if not a little frightened.

"Mais vous . . .," he said, turning to Adam, who looked unflinchingly back at the dark man. "Vous ètes different."

Terri, who was too frightened to draw on her small command of French, was lost by the dark man's words. Adam, however, was not. "Qui ètes-vous?" he asked the dark man.

The dark man laughed. Loud, long peals of malicious laughter rumbled out of him, clearly at Adam's expense. "Moi? Je suis le Baron! Le maître de Paris! Et je sait votre nom, Monsieur. Votre vrai nom."

Terri watched as all the blood drained slowly from Adam's face. "Dear God," he breathed, as the apparition calling himself the Baron smirked at him, retreating back towards the door. Darkness refolded itself around the man as he called out one last time: "Au revoir, Monsieur!" And he vanished into the night.

"Good God, Adam," she said, "Who was that?"

"Well, he said he was the Baron."

Terri shook her head in disbelief. "What kind of a nut walks into a café, chooses people at random, and picks on them?"

Adam did not answer right away. "I only hope we never find out."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

But Adam only stared cryptically at her.

* * *

It was upon the Pont Neuf, the oldest bridge in all of Paris, legended to have been built by good king Henri, that the dark man - the Baron - at last found what he sought. There was a young man standing in the pool of yellow that lay beneath the streetlamp on the northeastern corner of the bridge. He was in severe withdrawal. The dark man could smell it.

So he ventured near the young man, who did not look up at his approach.

The dark man knew everything about him. (Telecommunications had made all that so much easier this time.) He knew where the boy'd been born, how he'd done in school, on the bac . . .

He knew everything. Everything that mattered.

The boy (or was he a man? What is a man? Doesn't matter) was named Michèl. His last name does not matter. Michèl never used it anyway. He was only two months shy of twenty-two, but looked more like seventeen or eighteen. Except around the eyes, where amphetamines had caused the blood vessels to show. There he looked nearly as old as the dark man himself.

So it was a boy of twenty-one, not a man, whom the dark man chose.

The moon broke briefly through the clouds, sending a crystalline sparkle across the Seine. When it disappeared once more, the Pont Neuf was empty.

(c) 1996, Kirstin Jones (née Beall)/Calli Arcale, all rights reserved except those granted under terms of service


	3. Episode 3

**EPISODE THREE: in which the plot thickens a bit**

"Adam, that was seriously weird," said Terri, leading the way back towards her car.

Adam nodded in response. "I only wish that Baron fellow . . ."

"What?" she said.

"Oh, it's nothing," he said, shrugging. "Let's just get back to headquarters for now." And he picked up his pace, taking the lead. They walked in silence for about two hundred yards.

"Hello?" said Adam suddenly. "What's that?"

"What's what?" asked Terri. For answer, Adam turned and headed off across the street in the direction of an alleyway. "Oh," replied Terri as she noticed the flashing blue lights. "Police." And she followed him towards the alley.

The flashing lights shone on the walls surrounding the alley, turning it into a gruesome ballroom where shadows danced the foxtrot, endlessly repeating the same move over and over and over and over . . . There was something wet and red underneath a cloth in the middle. Men and women in uniforms were circling around it, taking photos, writing notes, speculating about how the wet something got there.

It took Terri a few seconds to realize that the the very dead wet something was a corpse. When she did, she felt her gorge rise at the thought. Blood had seeped through the white cloth in many places, pooling in depressions in the cloth.

"Are you all right?"

Terri jumped, turning to see Adam staring at her with some concern. "Yeah," she replied unsteadily. "I'll be okay." She swallowed carefully.

"Are you sure?" Terri nodded. "Good." Adam turned back to watch the police poking about the alleyway. Swallowing again, Terri followed suit.

Calmer now, she was able to follow the policemen's French. As she listened, she was able to piece together their picture of what happened. The victim, an elderly man, had entered the alley and met his killer. The killer had stabbed the old man in the leg, then slashed open his stomach with a sword. Then things got tricky. There were five more stab wounds, probably made after death (they had not bled much), and inexplicable second- and third- degree burns, all made around the time of death. Oddest of all, the dead man's thick wallet had not been stolen.

Terri shuddered at the inevitable thought. The killer had been armed with a sword. The killer could well have been an Immortal. And it was not without reason that most Watchers feared Immortals.

She turned and looked at Adam. His eyes were fixed upon the corpse and a grimness had come over his features. "Well, Adam," she said. "You know as well as I do what this looks like."

He smiled sardonically and turned to face her. "Well, Terri, it certainly seems . . ." and he trailed off, looking over her shoulder.

\- Oh no, thought Terri. Not again. "What is it?"

"It's him," replied Adam. "The Doctor."

She turned and, sure enough, there was the diminutive Immortal. He was standing just behind the police line, frowning pensively at the corpse as he tapped his curious umbrella on the pavement. With a start, Terri realized that he might be the killer. A chill went down her spine.

"So," she said, turning back to Adam. "What now?"

He shrugged. "You tell me. You're his Watcher."

She frowned back at him. "Oh, you're no help," she said, exasperated, and turned back to watch the Doctor.

Who wasn't there anymore.

"Oh, great," she said. "Just great." She bowed her head, fed up with the afternoon's events.

"If I might ask, Miss Johnson, . . ." began a polite, Scottish voice. Terri started and spun around. It was the Doctor again. Since she didn't answer, the Doctor continued. "If I might ask, do you happen to know if I might get a look at the body?"

Terri drew her face back in an astonished expression. "You . . . want . . . to look at the body?"

He stared at her as one would at an ignorant child. "Yes, of course! That is what I said, isn't it?"

Terri laughed shortly in disbelief. "You seriously expect . . . no. Look, I'm not with the police. Just . . ."

"No," he interrupted. "I must know. They," he said, gesturing to the policemen, "don't have the first idea what happened. But you do."

Terri grew very worried at this. But she was determined not to show it and laughed in the Doctor's face. "Look," she said. "I don't know what you're talking about." And she looked to Adam, who nodded in support.

"Look, Doctor whoever-you-are," Adam said, "we really don't know anything about this. So please, just leave us alone."

The Doctor turned to face Adam, looking up to do so. Yet it somehow seemed that Adam was the smaller of the two, for such was the intensity of the Doctor's gaze that Adam shrank back from it. "And pray, Mr. Pierson, could you tell me why in the name of Rassilon you followed me about all afternoon?"

Adam was dumbstruck. So, for that matter, was Terri. Neither of them were new to the art of following people. He shouldn't have noticed them. But he had.

The Doctor sighed. "Look," he said. "I don't know what you two are about, but trust me, you've no idea what you might be getting into." He looked into each of their eyes in turn. "I have seen things that would cause each 'knotted and combined lock to part/And stand on end like quills on the fretful porcupine.'"

He turned his intense gaze to Terri, and she felt herself shrink back in fear before she'd really thought about it. He didn't say anything, but she slowly got the feeling that he didn't mean them any harm. She started, and the Doctor broke the contact, turned, and walked away.

Terri and Adam stood there for some time in silence. Unnoticed, an ambulance arrived and took away the body. After a time, the two Watchers slowly turned and continued on their way to Terri's car.

* * *

The darkness moved around Michel with a materiality that did nothing to reassure him. The dank air didn't help either. Nor did the chill in his bones, the chill that reminded him of his master.

Ah, yes. Son maître, le dieu des drouges. His master, the god of drugs. -Mon dieu, he thought, if only I could have them, I would live in this pit of despair for all eternity. If only for fifty milligrams, if only for ten, if only for a grain of anything at all . . .

Like so many, Michel would do - and had done - absolutely anything to acheive his worldly nepenthe. Lethe's waters, alcohol laced with morphine. That was his nightcap. And with breakfast, pretty capsules, filled with all sorts of things to infuse his body with energy. (Those he met frequently, in a bold but futile effort to shake off the everlasting cloud under which he lived.) And for special occasions, in the company of what passed for friends in his life, were hallocinogens. Many different ones, each with flavors all their own.

Right now, Michel didn't care what kind of nepenthe he got. He just wanted something. Now.

The dark man knew all this. It was he that moved in the dank darkness around Michel. He did not need the light. He knew where everything was. He had lived here, a fantôme not of the opéra but of Paris herself, for a very long time.

He considered telling Michel just how long he'd been there, but decided that the twenty-two year old boy had few enough nerves left as it was. And he would need them soon enough, to begin le masque de la terreur noire.

Ah yes. The masque. It had been - how long? - just over two hundred years since the last proper masque of black terror. Yet the dark man remembered it as clearly as if it had been yesterday. La Semaine sanglante - the Bloody Week - had not been so successful. But there, circumstances had played against him. The dark man had not counted on the effectiveness of the new artillery.

But the last really glorious terreur noire had followed on the heels of the revolution, in that beautifully violent year, 1793. And that young fool Robespierre had followed the dark man so easily, despite his noble title of Baron. And, unlike la Semaine sanglante, he'd gotten his sacrifice then. On his dear Madame Guillotine . . .

* * *

"Yes? May I help you, Monsieur?"

The rather smelly secretary behind the rough desk had to repeat himself twice before the foppish - but distinctly alarming - gentleman would deign to answer. He was clad all in black velvet, with an elegant saber at his side. Upon first seeing him, the secretary's first impression was of a nobleman of the worst sort. The sort that still believed in noblesse obligé despite having seen his king's blood spilling into the streets around Madame Guillotine and into the gutters of the Place de la Révolution. Despite having seen the fall of the Bastille and the burning of the Tuilleries, the sacking of Versailles, the mass destruction of anything of value to those of name, . . . And, of course, the wooing of those of name by that most persuasive of mistresses, the one over which all suitors completely lost their heads, Madame Guillotine.

But when the dark man introduced himself as the Baron Lucien Noir d'Enfer Profond - Lucien Black of the Deepest Hell - the secretary felt his superstitious innards curdle. And he froze, stuttering badly as he asked the dark man what he wanted.

"I want to speak with Maximilien François Marie Isidore de Robespierre," he replied, with formal precision. To the secretary, this made sense. If this demon of hell had come for Monsieur Robespierre, then he would call him by name, now wouldn't he?

"And I shall speak with him now," said the Baron d'Enfer, pushing past the unresisting secretary with ease. The terrified young man did not stay to warn his employer, but fled into the streets, warning all he met that the judgement had come at last.

(c) 1996, Kirstin Jones (née Beall)/Calli Arcale, all rights reserved except those granted under terms of service


	4. Episode 4

**EPISODE FOUR: in which there is (finally) some violence**

The Doctor walked briskly down the streets of Paris, retracing his steps to the TARDIS. It was vital that he get to the delicate scanning equipment on board. There was something very odd going on and there was no way the Doctor was going to let it simply happen.

-Ah, but it's not so simple, said a tiny voice in the back of the Doctor's mind.

"No?" he replied, vaguely aware that he was talking to himself and not really caring.

-No. And you know it, replied the voice. -One death does not a villanous plot make.

"True, but it was an odd death." The Doctor frowned into the darkening Parisian night. It was very late. Behind him, a lone car turned off the road, and the night was again silent.

-Not really. It may have been a crime of passion.

"But on the other hand, it . . ." The Doctor broke off in the middle of retorting to himself. He'd heard a sound. The sound was repeated, and the Doctor recognized it as a the firing of a pistol fitted with a faulty silencer. And he heard it again. And again. He ran, searching the source of the sound. It had to be nearby.

He was not disappointed. Rounding a corner, he spotted three teenage boys huddled by a garbage bin. He shouted at them, and they looked up. "Merde!" one of them shouted. "Allez!" And they scattered like frightened birds.

There was a groaning sound from beyond the garbage bin. The Doctor stepped closer and saw a young man, bleeding heavily from wounds in his leg, arm, chest, and stomach. He'd be lucky if he lived ten minutes.

"It's all right," said the Doctor, crouching by the young man. "I won't hurt you." He saw that the young man was tall and neatly dressed, possibly a student. But his eyes were glazed with pain, and his breath came in short, ragged bursts.

"Monsieur . . . ," he gasped, painfully. "Ou est . . . ou est les . . ."

"Where are your attackers?" the Doctor asked, mentally shifting into French. "Don't worry. They're gone now."

"They . . . they have killed me, I think," said the young man.

"Why?" asked the Doctor.

But the young man shook his head, causing himself to cough painfully. A trickle of blood ran down his chin. "I don't know. They took . . . they took my money . . . and . . ." He coughed again. "They said . . . they said . . . I do not matter, I'm not . . . important to the Baron. . . but they took my money." A spasm went through the young man, causing him to gasp in agony. "And then . . . they killed me."

The Doctor closed his eyes in sorrow, then took his head in his lap. "Don't worry," he said, stroking the dying man's brow in a vain effort to comfort him. "Brave heart." And then the man died.

Slowly untangling himself from the dead man, the Doctor stood, a grim determination on his features. Whoever this Baron was that the killers mentioned to the young man, he had no right to decide who is important.

"Everyone is important," muttered the Doctor, gazing off into the middle distance. As a consequence of his distraction, he started when he felt a tapping on his shoulder.

He spun around, raising his umbrella defensively, only to find that it was the young lady who'd been following him around. "Well," he said, his voice tinged with barely veiled anger. "I really think you've got some explaning to do, Miss Johnson." And he rapped the ferrule of his umbrella on the pavement to emphasize his point.

She looked extremely nervous, and kept glancing about. "I just . . . well, I was just wondering . . . can I help?" And she indicated the young man's corpse.

"Well," replied the Doctor, "there's not much anyone short of a Guardian could do. Can't you see he's dead?" He stared at her, astonished by her bald-faced play-acting. "Just what do you think you're playing at, Miss Johnson?"

She opened her mouth, but before she could answer, a voice called out. "Terri!" it said. "Are you all right?"

The Doctor turned towards the source of the sound. Jogging from the corner was the young man who had identified himself as Adam Pierson. "Oh, bother," said the Doctor. There was no way he could go to his TARDIS now, not with these two meddlers around. Meanwhile, Terri called out a greeting.

The Doctor scowled. "Well, well, well," he said. "If it isn't Tweedledum and Tweedledee," he muttered, quite loud enough for both of the humans to hear.

"I don't think that was called for," said Adam, annoyed.

The Doctor scowled at him. "Well, what do you expect?" he said, indignant. "You've been following me around all day and refuse to explain why!"

Terri looked sidelong at Adam. He returned the gaze. After several seconds of tense silence, Adam turned back to the Doctor. "We're curious about these murders as well."

"That hardly explains why you've been following me."

"I know," replied Adam, curtly.

The Doctor looked into Adam's eyes as he had before. But this time Adam did not shrink away but gazed intensely back. It was as though a mask had dropped from his formerly soft, warm features, revealing a cold hardness, as of a rocky shoreline, worn down to its unforgiving core by the weight of millenia. The Doctor found himself startled. His brows knit together. All of a sudden, Adam reminded him of his own kind.

But that was not possible. The Doctor would have known immediately if Adam bore the telepathic presence of a Time Lord.

Shaking himself back to reality, the Doctor turned away from Adam and looked instead at Terri, who was looking very worried. "Yes," said the Doctor. "Well. What was it you wanted, child?"

Terri spluttered at this. "What? Child? I'm twenty-six, I'll have you know!" Adam poked her in the ribs, hissing at her to shut up. "What?" she said, looking up at him. After a few moments, she seemed to realize something and did shut up.

Adam spoke. "Terri wanted to ask you what you might know about the murders."

The Doctor frowned at Adam. "And why do you want to know?"

"We're . . . private investigators."

"Very well," said the Doctor. "I suppose that nothing will dissuade you, so you might as well come along." With that, he spun around and began marching off in the direction of the TARDIS.

After a few paces, he realized that Adam and Terri were not following. Pausing, he called back, "Well, come on!" He was gratified to see them catch up to him a moment later.

* * *

Elsewhere in the darkening City of Light, two forces met.

In an underground chamber, the leaders of two adolescent gangs snarled at one another. Their followers (naturally) followed suit. But the tension in that vast, long-forgotten segment of the Paris sewer was unnatural. Ordinarily, such a meeting would have had an air of pride, rivalry, and powerful loyalty to one's own side. But tonight the air seethed with equal parts anticipation, thrill, and fear.

A booming sound echoed through the chamber, and all was silent.

"Children, listen to me now!" called a voice. The voice was strong, stronger than it had been in seven years. The teenaged gangs turned as one body to watch the speaker. It was Michel, standing proudly on a high stone catwalk. There was none of the earlier pain in his form. He had gotten his nepenthe. Indeed, he had gotten something infinitely better than his usual nepenthe.

Purpose.

The bringer of his dark purpose stood quietly behind Michel, smiling quietly to himself. Yes!, thought the Baron. Things are moving perfectly, better than any masque before. Michel had spoken to eight gangs thus far, and had roused each into a frenzy. They were each convinced that Michel was their prophet, come to bring the final reckoning of youthful might over conventional law and order.

"Children of the night," called Michel. "Children of poverty and sorrow, despair no longer! For today is our day, our day of truth and unconquerable right!"

The dark Baron watched, pleased beyond words, as Michel roused the teenagers into a fighting frenzy. True, Michel, not being as expressive - or indeed as literate - as Robespierre, had required extensive coaching on this speech. But the Baron enjoyed writing these words almost as much as he enjoyed watching their effect on the rabid crowd.

He was less pleased when he saw the older, more experienced leaders step out of the crowd and challenge Michel. There was, however, a contingency plan to deal with this. All it required was to kill the leaders.

The Baron smiled, fingering the hilt of his broadsword. Tonight, another kill, another appetizer to whet his hunger for the main course, the sacrifice.

He threw back his head and laughed. Loud, long peals of laughter bubbled up horribly from the dark Baron's lips. When he lowered his head again at last, he saw that everyone had gone silent and was staring at him in fear. He bowed before Michel, giving the impression to the ignorant fools below that he was Michel's servant, and lept down from the catwalk.

He fell ten yards, landed on his feet, and grinned at the two gang leaders. He licked his lips. The two boys were each over six feet tall and both were very strong. One pulled out a bowie knife. The other drew a black combat knife from his boot, not taking his eyes from the Baron. They were strong, experienced street fighters.

They never stood a chance.

In an instant, the Baron had drawn his broadsword and swung it across, grinning like a mad demon as the blade flickered faster than either of the boys could follow. The one with the bowie knife swept it up in a vicious arc that should have severed the dark man's windpipe, but that cut through air instead as the broadsword sliced unnoticed through the boy's gut. He gasped once, then fell to the ground, bleeding quickly to death.

Meanwhile, the combat knife was moving lower, slashing at the dark man's midriff, taking advantage of the Baron's motion as he killed the other boy. But somehow the Baron's sword had already come clear of its first victim and lept out to parry. It struck the knife with such force that it was knocked clear out of the boy's hand. The boy scarcely noticed it leave his hand before he felt cold steel sliding into his chest and through his heart. He spasmed once and died.

The Baron's strange, bicolor eyes glittered madly. He pulled his sword free, wiped it on the first boy's jacket, sheathed it, and then climbed up the sheer face of the wall to return to Michel's side. There was no want of attention for Michel after that. The Baron's lunatic smile never once wavered.

(c) 1996, Kirstin Jones (née Beall)/Calli Arcale, all rights reserved except those granted under terms of service


	5. Episode 5

**EPISODE FIVE: in which the Doctor gets in trouble as usual**

"This is not possible," Terri stated, mainly to reassure herself of her own sanity. She and Adam had just followed the Doctor into an old-fashioned police box ( -So the rumors at UNIT were true, she thought) which was significantly larger within.

"Oh, of course it's possible," said the Doctor, not turning as he strode across the room to a large, octagonal structure supported on a plinth in the center of the room, giving what Terri supposed was the console a fond pat. A glowing plexiglass column emerged from the center of the structure and was supported from above by four steel girders.. As the Doctor began flipping switches, Terri looked around for Adam.

Her colleague was staring in open amazement at the interior of . . . what was it the Doctor had called it? The TARDIS. There was a pleasantly lit space to the left which was clearly a study, containing an impressive number of books, a worn overstuffed chair, and a very dusty phonograph. Everything was placed in exactly the right spot, right down to the individual dust motes, giving the place a very dream-like quality.

"I'm dreaming," said Adam, echoing Terri's thoughts.

The Doctor turned and fixed Adam with his peculiar gaze, grinning happily. "You most certainly are not dreaming, young man."

Adam broke from his reverie and stared at the Doctor. "Where do you get off calling me 'young man?' You don't know how old I might be."

Terri stared at Adam. The situation was rapidly moving beyond Terri's range of experience. "Uh, Doctor?" asked Terri.

"Yes?" he answered.

"Who are you really?"

The Doctor sighed fondly. "Always the same questions," he said, shaking his head. There was a peculiar, almost nostalgic smile on his face. "Who do you think I am?"

This gave Terri pause. She looked to Adam for support, but he merely shrugged, his face creased with worry. She bit her lip, then turned back to face the Doctor. "I don't know," she said, honestly.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at her, but did not comment. Instead, he returned to flipping switches on the central structure, which Terri took to be a control console of some kind. "Come here, both of you," he said. As they approached the console, he pulled a lever. Terri's attention was immediately drawn upwards by a peculiar sound. She gasped as the ceiling was replaced by a holographic representation of outer space.

"What . . . what is *that*?" she asked, awed.

The Doctor chuckled. "Oh, just the Universe," he replied. "Look," he said, pointing at a distant galactic cluster. "That's the Coma Cluster. My people call it Kasterborus."

The two Watchers stared blankly at him. "So?" asked Adam.

"That's my home."

The coin finally dropped. Terri's eyes widened. She was left speechless by the enormity of what the Doctor had just said.

Adam was not so speechless. "You mean to tell us that you're . . . an alien?"

"Quite," said the Doctor. "I'm a Time Lord, from the planet Gallifrey. And there's something going on in this city that requires a Time Lord's attention."

Terri finally got her voice back. "But . . . it's just a couple of murders." She was very worried. If the Doctor was not an Immortal after all but an alien . . . well, it did explain an awful lot. But it was her duty to keep him from knowing about the Immortals. So she couldn't let him get involved in a murder in which the killer was very likely Immortal.

The Doctor, meanwhile, had pulled down a monitor that was suspended from one of the girders. He was punching in values on the console and watching the results on the screen. "I felt a distinct temporal distortion at the scene of the first slaying."

Terri frowned. The Doctor was speaking technobabble gibberish. "Say that in English, please," she said.

He smiled apologetically, then sobered. "Someone has been altering Time," he said. "Look at this." And he indicated the monitor.

The two Watchers stepped around the console to stand behind the Doctor. Numbers were flowing across the screen, white on blue, totally incomprehensible. Terri looked up at Adam, who raised an eyebrow in response.

"Ah, Doctor," said Adam. "I'm afraid we don't understand."

"There are several spikes in the artron energy levels in the Time Vortex," he replied. "One of them coincides with the approximate space-time coordiantes of the first killing."

"So?" asked Terri.

"So, Miss Johnson," replied the Doctor, "there is no such thing as 'coincidence' when you're dealing with Time." He turned back to the console and began setting controls, flipping switches, and turning dials.

"What are you doing?" asked Terri.

With a melodramatic flourish, the Doctor flipped a final switch. The metallic spikes in the plexiglass column in the center of the console began to move, accompanied by a horrendous grating sound. "We're leaving," said the Doctor.

"Where are we going?" asked Adam calmly.

The Doctor turned to Adam, a curious look in his eyes. "Do I sense skepticism, Mr. Pierson? We're going underground."

"Why?" asked Adam, still calm as ever.

"Just who . . . no, never mind," said the Doctor. "We're going to the location of the second time distortion."

This made Terri worried. "Um, Doctor?" she said. "Isn't that dangerous? I mean, if the killings coincide with the temporal whatchamacallits, won't the killer still be there?"

The Doctor smiled faintly. "Brave heart, Terri."

"Huh?" she asked, bewildered.

The Doctor shook his head as though to clear it. "Oh, nothing. You just reminded me of someone I once knew," he said. "I'm taking us to four hours after the fact, anyway, so it should be safe."

\- Famous last words, thought Terri.

* * *

The Baron smiled contentedly at Michel, the early morning sunlight slipping off his dark form like water off a duck's back. They stood together in the Baron's favorite place, the Place de la Concorde. "Well, my dear child, it seems you've made quite an impression," he said. "Even more of an impression than my old colleague Maximilien."

Michel did not know that the Baron meant Maximilien Robespierre. And even if he had known, he would not have cared. Michel loved the dark Baron more dearly than he loved his own life. For the Baron had brought surcease from the horrible pain that had plagued Michel for seven long years, filling the void with purpose.

"It is all thanks to you, mon ma=EEtre," he replied modestly.

"No!" replied the Baron, smoothly and effieciently. "I merely unlocked your destiny!" He faced Michel and gripped the boy's shoulders, reflecting momentarily that the boy was quickly becoming a man, although a man of the Baron's making. "All that strength, that power, that just vision! That, my friend, is yours, not mine."

Michel smiled happily. "You have great faith in me, mon Baron. I shall do my best to live up to that."

The Baron gave a most convincing display of pride and joy, biting his lip and then boldly embracing Michel. He kissed the boy twice, then stood back. "There shall be justice in Paris, my friend. And you shall bring it. No more shall the bougeoisie crush their children beneath them."

Michel took up the refrain with idealistic fervor. "No more shall they bind the masses up with drugs and television! No more shall we follow blindly to another man's future! No more shall we be oppressed by our elders! No more!" he cried out, startling a young woman and her poodle. The dog growled at the Baron, who paid it no heed, but smiled happily.

All was progressing perfectly.

* * *

A loud, grating sound echoed through the old sewers of Paris as the TARDIS materialized, causing the rats to squeal in fright as they scattered into the darkness. Two boys, scarcely above the age of consent, silently observed two men and a woman emerge from the blue police box. They met each other's gaze and nodded. One slipped silently into the murky shadows while the other remained to watch the strange newcomers.

* * *

"I don't believe it," said Adam, staring at the high ceiling of the underground chamber. Terri picked her way around him, wrinkling her nose at the foul stench of the place.

"What's that smell?" she asked.

"Death," replied the Doctor, mysteriously.

"Oh, come off it," said Adam.

The Doctor took no notice of Adam but immediately began poking around. Terri, meanwhile, grabbed Adam by the elbow and gave him a remonstrative stare. "Adam," she said, warningly. "Don't overstep yourself."

"What?" he asked, incredulous.

"Just watch it," she hissed in his ear. "He's not what we thought. We need to learn from him." Adam replied with a warning glance of his own. - Terrific, she thought. On top of everything, now Adam's acting wierd.

"Come and have a look at this," called the Doctor from the other side of the impossible police box.

"Go ahead," said Adam, turning away. Terri shot one last exasperated look at his back and trotted over to the Doctor. He was kneeling over a pair of motionless dark forms, a look of sorrow on his face. She gasped when she saw what he'd found.

Two boys, probably in their late teens. Both were quite dead. One boy, facing up, had a very nasty looking burn across the left side of his face and neck and a sticky mass of blood around his midsection. His coat, slashed open just above the waist, hung oddly, as though . . . as though . . . . Terri fought back nausea. The boy's abdomen had been slashed open.

The other boy lay on his stomach. Terri did not know that the Doctor had rolled the boy over to prevent her seeing the boy's disfigured face. The sewer rats had already begun their work.

"This is clearly the work of the same murderer," said the Doctor, rising from the corpses. "Now all that remains . . ."

"Les vo=EDla!"

The voice rang out, echoing in the subterranean chamber. Terri and the Doctor looked up, startled, to see a teenaged boy pointing an assualt rifle at them. The boy was looking over his shoulder, calling to his comrades, a group of a dozen or so boys, all armed.

"Oh, dear," said the Doctor. He sighed, putting his hands up in the air with the easy motion of long practise. Terri turned and looked behind for another escape route. But there was another boy behind them, keeping his pistol trained on them.

"Hands in the air," said the first boy, apparently the leader. Terri wondered for a moment why the boy was speaking English, but did not dwell on the issue, as she felt the cold muzzle of a gun in her back.

She cast a despairing glance at the Doctor. He met her eyes as though to say not to worry, he had a plan. Not terribly reassured by this, Terri looked for Adam.

But Adam was gone.

She didn't have time to wonder where he'd got to, for their captors were taking them away. For a brief moment, all Terri could think was "take us to your leader."

(c) 1996, Kirstin Jones (née Beall)/Calli Arcale, all rights reserved except those granted under terms of service


	6. Episode 6

**EPISODE SIX: in which some secrets get revealed**

The sun shone a dirty yellow, its light sullied by the smog that overhung the city. The Baron smiled happily, joyful at the prospect of the coming Masque. He looked forward to the terror. He always did.

Michel was not so happy. "This," he said, pointing indignantly at the yellow haze obscuring Montmartre, "is yet another manifestation of the oppression of our people, is it not, mon ma=EEtre?"

The dark Baron turned to Michel. He said nothing, but smiled all the more. Michel was an excellent pupil. Almost as good as Robespierre. Of course, Robespierre had been a bright man to begin with. All he had needed was the flame. Michel required so much more tutoring. But then, Robespierre's independence had cost him his head.

"What do you think?" asked Michel suddenly.

The dark man regarded Michel solemnly. "The pollution of the air," he said, "is merely a metaphor for the pollution of the mind."

Michel frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Television, my friend," replied the Baron. "Newspapers. Radio. The World Wide Web. Misinformation easily and subtly fed into the mind."

Michel gasped in awe. "What would I do without you, mon ma=EEtre?"

Outwardly, the Baron smiled fondly and modestly. Inwardly, he smirked. It was never this easy with Robespierre. It was almost this easy with Vlad "The Impaler" Dracula, but never was it so much fun. He laughed happily and threw an arm around Michel. "Never fear, my friend," he said, smiling. "Never fear."

* * *

"Never fear," said le Baron Lucien Noir, leaning back in his seat in Robespierre's sitting room, having just poured himself a fresh cup of tea.

Robespierre himself was standing at the window, peering out at the citizens below. "Never fear? Is that all you can say?"

The Baron did not answer immediately. Instead, he brought his teacup to his mouth and took a sip. It was very sweet. "Now, now, my friend. HÃ©bert is dead."

"But the bloodshed!" breathed Robespierre, turning from the window. There was pain on his face. "We are making a poor example of ourselves."

"You and I?" asked the Baron.

"No, no, no," said Robespierre, shaking his head. "The Republic! And I still think it was a bad idea to outlaw Christianity."

The Baron raised an eyebrow at this. "But the Cult of the Supreme Being was your idea, Maximillien."

"Religion is necessary for order," replied Robespierre, sinking into an armchair opposite the Baron. "The only problem with Christianity was it's insistence upon dichotomy. All men are created equal, my friend."

"Who told you that?"

"Lafayette, I think."

"And look where it got him."

Robespierre looked up. "Yes, I know." He sighed. It had been very distressing when Lafayette had been executed. "Even the best men can fall away from the truth."

The Baron set his tea aside and looked into Robespierre's eyes. He saw a very tired man inside. Perhaps he'd been pushing the Frenchman too hard. "What's happened?" he asked, knowing full well the truth.

Robespierre had become paranoid.

"There are still HÃ©bertist factions," he replied. "But none are man enough to show themselves."

-Small wonder, thought the Baron, thinking fondly of Madame Guillot= ine.

"I think . . .," began Robespierre, choking back his words as though stricken with grief. "I think that Danton is one of them."

The Baron affected sympathy, knowing that Danton had always been a good friend and supporter of Robespierre. -All the better, he thought to himself. Danton was a known friend of Robespierre's and a stout defender of liberty. And there was no evidence of insurrection. "I am so sorry, my friend," he said.

"It is the price we pay," replied Robespierre, a hardness growing in his voice. "When one crusades for virtue and liberty, one can hold no quarter."

The Baron nodded with determination. "As always, my friend, you are right." And he took his leave of Robespierre, content.

A week later, Danton was dead. Over the next five months, over 2,500 others followed his steps to the guillotine, including the Baron's sacrifice. And the dark Baron was exceedingly pleased.

* * *

"I am very pleased," said the Baron, patting Michel on the shoulder. "You have done much, and will do much more, my friend."

Michel actually blushed with gratitude. "Thank you, mon ma=EEtre, but I do not think I deserve such praise." He smiled. "It is you . . . ." He broke off as his brand new pager went off. He unclipped it from his belt and read the LCD readout on the little device.

"What is it?" asked the Baron.

"Beta group has taken prisoners."

* * *

"Where are we going?" asked Terri. They'd been walking for ten minutes, along a convoluted maze of ancient sewer ways. She was now thoroughly lost. She devoutly hoped the Doctor knew where they were.

"You'll find out soon enough," replied one of her captors. He was a red-haired boy, probably about 17 or 18 years old. He seemed to be the leader of the group.

Terri looked to the Doctor for support. He looked across at her, seemingly at perfect ease. "Don't worry, Terri," he said. "When we get where we're going, we can talk about this reasonably. I'm sure it's all just a mistake."

Terri stared at the Doctor, astonished by his cheerful attitude. "How can you be so calm?" she asked. "They probably think we killed those two boys."

"I'm not so sure about that," replied the Doctor. "Don't worry, though. I'll think of something!" Terri was about to reply when she noticed the Doctor's fingers drumming on his umbrella. He was worried.

Terri bit her lip. She wondered if Adam had gotten away. She hoped so. He was a wonderful researcher, she reflected, but he wasn't really cut out for violent stuff.

Then she remembered the meeting with the strange Baron and wasn't quite so sure anymore.

"Ah, here we are!" said the Doctor, brightly. Terri looked up. They were entering another large chamber. This one showed signs of habitation, with lots of tables and chairs, and people scurrying everywhere. The walls wore so many layers of graffiti that it was impossible to tell what color they'd been originally. But the most recent layer of spray-paint had followed a clear pattern.

"Where are we?" Terri asked the Doctor, whispering with awe.

"Some kind of headquarters, I should think," he replied, gazing at his surroundings with a keen interest. As they progressed into the room, a large mound of stolen goods became visible. "On second thoughts, it looks more like a dragon's den."

"So where's the dragon?" asked Terri.

Suddenly, the group came to a halt. Terri felt a firm grip on her shoulder, restraining her from moving further. Somewhere in the distance (or perhaps only in her mind - she was never afterwards sure) there was a deep thumping sound, not unlike a great heartbeat. Not a single person made the slightest sound. Then she heard footsteps. She turned. And gasped at what she saw.

Striding proudly into the room were two men. One was a young man, younger than Terri, who walked with a spring in his step and fire in his eyes. But it was the man behind who stole all Terri's attention.

It was the same dark stranger who'd accosted her and Adam in the caf= Ã©.

"I had to ask," she whispered to herself. Although the younger man walked in front and although the younger man seemed to carry the authority, it was the dark Baron who was the dragon. Terri was sure of it.

She bit her lip, hard. She tasted blood, but did not let off.

The two men drew near and halted in front of them. The red-headed teenager broke away, snapping his assault rifle up in something resembling a salute. "Comrade Michel," he said, addressing the younger man. "We found these two poking about the meeting hall. They found the bodies."

The young man - Michel - turned to the Baron and whispered a question. The Baron whispered back. Michel turned back to the group and said, "Let the prisoners stand on their own, comrade Jean." Their captors backed off immediately, nevertheless keeping their guns at the ready. "They are civilized, and must be questioned in their own manner." He turned to the Doctor and Terri. "Who are you?" he asked.

Without a moment's delay, the Doctor stepped forward, doffing his hat. He extended his hand to Michel, saying, "Allow me to introduce us. I'm the Doctor, and this is Terri Johnson."

Michel stared at the Doctor's hand, but did not shake it.

The Baron, meanwhile, stepped forward, interposing himself between the Doctor and Michel. The Doctor did not flinch in the face of the Baron's dread gaze. Terri found herself admiring his stamina. She remembered what it was like to be pinned in those strange eyes.

"Interesting," said the Baron. "You are not like other men," he sai= d.

The Doctor smiled flippantly back. "Oh, I know," he said.

"Do not provoke me, mortal," said the Baron, and turned away dismissively. The Doctor appeared quite crestfallen. Terri sympathized.

"What do you mean?" asked the Doctor, indignant at being dismissed so easily. But the Baron ignored him, swinging his terrible gaze over to Terri. She shrank back, but was pinned in his green and black stare.

"Child," he said, "where is the old one?"

Terri shuddered in the grip of the man's strange eyes. "I . . . I don't know . . ." she managed to say.

"Your companion," he continued mercilessly.

"Who?" she asked, bewildered. The oldest person she'd talked to today was the Doctor. He couldn't mean Adam, since he was scarcely older than Terri herself.

Unless . . . .

But before she could pursue the thought, a blinding, searing agony shot through her temples. She gasped in pain. Bright bubbles of light exploded across her retinas and she felt her body recede, driven away by electric storms of terror. Or was it her mind that was fleeing? She didn't know and couldn't think, except about the merciless pain that assaulted her disembodied mind. For a moment she perceived a brilliant viper, striking at her brow, and then felt the double stabs of its fangs, sinking deep into her consciousness. And then she was falling, falling, falling down a deep spiraling well that went on forever and ever and ever and ever . . . .

And then, mercifully, she passed out.

* * *

"What have you done?" shouted the Doctor, watching Terri collapse to the stone floor. He flew to her side and lifted her head from the floor. None of the armed teenagers moved an inch to help.

"She will regain consciousness shortly," replied the strange, dark m= an.

This response did not satisfy the Doctor. "Just who do you think you are?" he said, looking up at the man in fury.

The dark man smirked. "I am the Baron, Doctor."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. "That's hardly an answer."

"Then tell us who *you* are, Doctor," replied the Baron. The Doctor frowned at this, but bit his lip and kept his peace.

"Oooooh," said Terri, stirring. "What happened?" she asked, sitting up, a hand on her head.

"I think the Baron made a forced entry into your mind," he replied. His soft blue eyes had gone as hard as stone.

"Very perceptive, Doctor," replied the Baron. The Doctor stood and helped Terri to her feet. He was very worried. He still didn't know who or what the Baron was, but he was developing some very nasty suspicions.

Meanwhile, the Baron had returned to stand at Michel's side. "The woman lost track of her companion back in the meeting hall, comrade Michel."

-And with any luck, thought the Doctor, he's far away from here by = now.

"Jean!" called Michel. The red-headed teenager stepped forward. "Take some people back and search for . . ." He paused and conferred with the Baron. "Search for a twenty-five to thirty-five-year old man with dark hair. He'll answer to Adam Pierson."

The Doctor heard Terri gasp with surprise. He leaned across to her and whispered, "I was right. The Baron dragged that out of your head."

Her eyes widened. "But how?"

The Doctor smiled ruefully. "I'm afraid our friend the Baron is a highly trained telepath." -But trained where?, he wondered to himself. And what did he want with Michel and all these lost children?

Once again, the Doctor had some very nasty suspicions. He remembered the Daleks on Nekros and shuddered.

Before he could dwell on the thought, there was a shout. Jean had already returned. "Comrade!" he shouted. "Luc's team found him not ten minutes ago!"

The Doctor turned to watch Jean and another group of heavily armed teenagers leading Adam into the room. He sighed.

Adam was brought up to stand next to the Doctor and then released. "Well," he said, smiling ruefully at the Doctor, "this isn't what I had in mind when I slipped away."

"At last," said the Baron. The Doctor started. There was a curious pleased excitement in the Baron's voice. It reminded the Doctor eerily of Davros. "My sacrifice," he breathed, so quietly that even the Doctor barely heard.

The Doctor's eyes widened. "No!" he said, outraged. "Whatever you plan, Baron, I will not allow it!"

The Baron turned to meet the Doctor's gaze. "And what do you know of it, little man?" He smirked. The Doctor found himself getting very tired of that smirk. "Every time, Doctor, I take my sacrifice."

"What are you talking about?" asked the Doctor.

"In all my travels, little mortal," said the Baron, "I have found no world with such . . . such tasty morsels as creatures such as your friend."

The Doctor turned to look at Adam, whose eyes had grown very wide. "What's he talking about?" he asked Adam. But Adam merely stared past the Doctor in mute astonishment.

The Baron spoke. "His name is not Adam Pierson," he said.

Suddenly Terri gasped. The Doctor turned to see her staring at Adam - or whoever he really was - with newfound fear. "Oh, no . . . don't tell me," she said. "You're . . . Immortal?" she breathed.

"Well, . . . yes," replied Adam.

-Well, thought the Doctor. This certainly answers a lot of questions. "I rather thought you seemed a bit . . .,"

". . . older than my years?" Adam finished for him. "Yes. Sorry, Terri," he said, casting an apologetic glance in her direction.

Terri looked fit to be tied. But she had no chance to answer. The Baron began laughing. The sound of his laughter chilled the Doctor, piercing his hearts with a twinge of icicle sharp fear. For a moment, he wondered why he was afraid.

"Lock them up," said Michel. Hands clasped around the Doctor's arms, dragging him away. There was no use resisting. Not yet.

(c) 1996, Kirstin Jones (née Beall)/Calli Arcale, all rights reserved except those granted under terms of service


	7. Episode 7

**EPISODE SEVEN: in which the Masque begins in earnest**

Terri slumped disconsolately against the stone wall of their prison, immediately feeling her back dampen. They were not far from the Seine. She sneezed.

"Bless you," said Adam and the Doctor in unison.

She looked up. The Doctor looked tired. Adam looked apologetic. His expression only reminded Terri of what had transpired not ten minutes before, which made her very annoyed. "Adam," she said, keeping her voice firmly under control, "just what do you think you're doing?"

Adam started, managing to look both hurt and confused at the same time. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"You know damn well . . .," she began, trailing off as she remembered the Doctor. He didn't know about the Watchers. Or about his Chronicle. Terri squirmed mentally as she pictured telling her superiors that the Doctor was something even less human than an Immortal. Suddenly she realized that the unassuming alien was staring curiously at her. Unnerved, she turned back to Adam and said, "Who are you, really?"

Adam sighed. "Well, you'd've worked it out eventually," he said. "I'm Methos."

Terri started. -Methos? she thought. It doesn't make sense! Why would Methos become his own Watcher . . . . No. On second thoughts, it makes perfect sense, she thought.

"Ah," was all she said.

"Excuse me if I'm interrupting something," said the Doctor politely, "but could one of you elaborate? I'm afraid you both seem to know something I don't."

Adam - no, he's Methos, thought Terri - sighed again. "I'm not only an Immortal but . . . I'm the oldest Immortal."

The Doctor frowned. "I still don't follow. If you're immortal, how can the Baron 'sacrifice' you? And why does it matter that you're the oldest?"

Terri bit her lip, unsure of what to do. She winced as her tooth struck the sore spot she bitten earlier.

"Where to begin?" muttered Methos.

Now Terri spoke up. "Tell him about the Game," she said.

"Well," began Methos, "when two Immortals fight, . . ."

Michel sat calmly in the darkness below Paris. He was very happy. Already, his people's raids on the establishment had won the notice of the police and the media. At least sixty men who'd stood in their way were now dead in the streets, including two policemen.

And in a few minutes, the best would begin. A small dose of terror on the MÃ©tro, a warning . . . a taste of what was to come.

Michel frowned briefly. It would not be pleasant, especially when it came time to clear the bodies from the underground trains. But if it had to be, then it had to be. The opression could not continue.

And he had already spent too much time sitting. Michel leapt decisively from his seat and went off in search of the Baron.

* * *

"Well," said the Doctor, "we can't hang about in this cell any longer," he said. Already they had spent too much time there, growing damp instead of growing closer to a solution. What Adam - Methos, he corrected himself - had just told him was worrying him tremendously.

Methos looked up in surprise at the Doctor's words. "Are you saying we have a choice in the matter?" he asked.

The Doctor smiled. He prided himself on his skill in escaping dungeons. "I've escaped from stronger prisons than this. Don't worry," he said, and brandished his new sonic screwdriver proudly.

"What's that?" asked Terri.

"A sonic screwdriver," answered the Doctor happily. "Our way out," he said. He moved to the old, oaken door, pressing his ear up against it. He heard a single pair of footsteps, retreating into the distance, and then silence. He smiled.

"How's that going to get us out of here?" asked Methos, disbelieving= ly.

The Doctor frowned at the ancient Immortal. "Have some faith, my good man. Just because you're five times my age doesn't mean you know everything there is to know."

Methos frowned back. "Five times?" he answered, still skeptical. "But that'd make you a thousand years old. That's not possible. You're mortal."

The Doctor grinned. "Yes, and I've died six times already. I told you: I'm a Time Lord. We live a long time."

"So," said Terri, "do Time Lords ever die of old age?" Then she blushed. "Sorry . . . I shouldn't have said . . . I was just curious. No offense."

"None taken," replied the Doctor brightly. He found himself growing rather fond of Terri. He put his ear back the door for a moment. There was no sound, so he activated the sonic screwdriver and got to work on the lock. "A Time Lord, if he keeps in good health, can live up to 12,000 years. Hardly any do. It would be terribly boring."

"I can relate to that," said Methos, chuckling.

"Indeed," said the Doctor. "But you can't imagine how tedious life is back on Gallifrey!" Three of the lock's six pins slid neatly back and the Doctor smiled, pleased. "The High Council operates on a strict policy of non-intervention," the Doctor said, frowning as Terri chuckled for no apparent reason, "discouraging travel and encouraging people to sit and gather dust."

Another pin slid back and the Doctor spared a glance at Terri and Methos, who were grinning like idiots. He frowned severely at them and returned to his work. "I mean, how could I possibly have stayed behind, dedicating my life to the study of the Gallifreyan flutterwing?"

The last two pins slid back and the Doctor turned. "What ever are you smiling at?" he asked the two humans.

Terri answered. "Oh, nothing," she said, grinning from ear to ear.

"If you're smiling at nothing, than my name's Rassilon," said the Doctor. "Look, I've got the lock open. We can go now," he said, pushing the door open a crack and peering cautiously around it. There was no one there, so the three of them all filed out into the hall.

"I'm impressed," said Methos.

"Hush," said the Doctor. "We must keep quiet. Follow me," he said, leading them away from the illuminated route and into pitch blackness.

"Do you know where you're going, Doctor?" whispered Terri.

"Yes," replied the Doctor shortly, thinking hard. "I've been here before, a long time ago. A group of gypsies showed me the way." And he fell silent, leading them on by touch.

* * *

Terri blinked furiously at the sunlight that was stabbing into her dark-adjusted eyes. They had just emerged from a manhole cover, much to the surprise of the alley cat sitting atop it. The Doctor was apologizing to the cat, while Methos was brushing rock dust off his clothing.

Getting from the old catacombs into the modern storm sewers had required crawling through a very rough and very narrow tunnel. She was glad to be out in the open air again, after half an hour of dank stuffiness. She breathed deeply, happy to taste fresh air. Then the Doctor's voice cut in on her reverie.

"Terri, Methos," he started.

"No," interrupted Methos. "In the open, call me Adam," he said quietly. Terri thought about this and realized that he was absolutely right. If any of the other Watchers found out who he was, they'd have an apoplectic fit. And if another Immortal found out . . . . She shivered. It was still very difficult for her to think of Adam as the kind of person who routinely cuts off other people's heads.

The Doctor was talking again. "We need to work out what to do," he said. "As my TARDIS is out of the question . . ."

"Why?" asked Terri.

"It's bound to be guarded," replied the Doctor. "As I was saying, as we can't go there, we should find some place to talk."

Methos - no, thought Terri, I might as well go back to calling him Adam, since it's what I'm used to and what he wants - nodded. "Why don't we just talk and walk?" he asked.

The Doctor seemed to consider this for a moment, then he nodded and set off towards the river. Adam turned to follow and Terri jogged to catch up. "So," she said, trailing behind the two men, "what do you think he wants?"

The Doctor shook his head. "I don't know," he replied, a sharp edge to his voice, "but it can't be good."

Adam nodded. "I only wish I knew who he was," he said. He suddenly turned, walking backwards to face Terri. "You've been researching people like the Baron. Have you heard of him?"

Terri sighed. "I'd've told you by now," she said. "There's no Immortal called the Baron There isn't even anyone remotely like him, in any of the books!" she said, throwing up her hands. She almost tripped over the Doctor, for he had stopped suddenly.

The little Time Lord turned. There was a curious look in his eyes. "What do you mean, 'in any of the books?'" he asked.

Terri swallowed, hard. She looked at Adam for support. He shrugged apologetically. There was little street traffic, which relieved Terri immensely. It was half past noon, and a nearby electronics shop wore a sign proclaiming that it was closed for lunch. "Well," she said, "there's an organization called the Watchers that . . . well, that sorta keeps tabs on the Immortals."

The Doctor frowned. Terri felt her heart sink into her stomach. -He must have worked it out, she thought. He must have figured out that I'm his Watcher, and now he's pissed at me, not that I can blame him.

But much to Terri's relief, the Doctor simply said, "Well, you don't need to 'keep tabs' on the Baron. He's not an Immortal."

"What?" asked Adam, surprised. "But he must be. I Sensed him. And if he isn't Immortal, than what is he?"

The Doctor shook his head. "I'm not sure," he said. "But he's a very powerful telepath, more powerful even than most Time Lords. Far too powerful for a human. And he spoke of travelling, of finding . . ." The Doctor trailed off for a moment. Terri supposed he was thinking back to their meeting. ". . . of finding 'no morsel as tasty as your kind.' Or something like that."

Adam shuddered. "Yes," he said. "I'd blissfully forgotten that." A television screen in the electronics shop caught Terri's eye. It was displaying a terrible scene. Mutilated corpses were strewn across the floor of Le Printemps, a large department store. "Look," she said, her voice quaking. Her two companions followed her gaze and started at what they saw.

Le Printemps had closed. What else could they do? The dead bodies belonged mostly to customers, although two off-duty policemen had tried to stop the carnage, in the end only adding their corpses to the travesty of justice. Witnesses said that the villains were mostly children between 15 and 18.

"Too young to drive," said the Doctor, "but not too old to kill." There was a hardness in his voice. "And to think I wondered what he needed them for."

The scene shifted from Le Printemps to a subway. No one quite knew what had happened, but somehow a panic had broken out on board the train, just before it arrived at (ironically) Place de la Concorde. A hundred and six people had died, some stabbed, others trampled by the panicked crowd as it tried to escape its doom. There were a few survivors, all of whom talked of hearing disembodied voices telling them that there was a bomb on board, ready to explode at any moment, that they were unfit for modern life, that they were going to pay for their oppression.

No bomb had been found. Nor was there any kind of recording device. The two events were linked only by proximity of time: they occured within twenty minutes of each other.

"Doctor," said Terri, her throat catching on the words, "I just thought of something."

"What's that?" asked the Doctor.

"Back when I was starting out as a Watcher," she said, "I remember reading about an Immortal who was killed in the French Revolution."

Adam gasped. "Yes!" he said. "I know about that one too! He was guillotined in place of his friend, Connor MacLeod." His eyes had grown very wide. "He was killed by the Terror. Do you suppose . . ."

". . . that the Terror was engineered by the Baron?" finished the Doctor. "It's entirely possible." Terri felt her heart grow cold. Thousands had died in the Reign of Terror.

"We must stop him," said the Doctor. "Before it's too late."

Terri shivered. It would be a long time before she could retrieve her Pugeot and go get some sleep. For that matter, she reflected, it'd probably be a long time before she could sleep soundly anyway.

She shivered again, wondering how the Doctor remained so impassive through all this horror.

(c) 1996, Kirstin Jones (née Beall)/Calli Arcale, all rights reserved except those granted under terms of service


	8. Episode 8

**EPISODE EIGHT: in which our heroes fight back**

"I still think this is a bad idea," said Terri.

"Nonsense," said the Doctor as he used the tip of his umbrella to lever up the manhole cover. "We've got lanterns this time." He beamed up at Terri.

Terri sighed and the Doctor returned to his work. "I would appreciate some help," he said.

Adam bent down and helped the Doctor lift the cover free. "She's probably right, you know," he said.

The Doctor met Adam's eyes. He sighed inwardly. The whole plan was a gamble, yes. But then, it was always a gamble, wasn't it?

But he couldn't tell the two humans that. It would only worry them unneccesarily.

-What about worrying me unneccesarily? asked a little voice inside of him. The Doctor had no answer.

"I know," said the Doctor finally, looking Adam in the eye. "But we can't afford the delay of contacting the police or military. We must get to my TARDIS as quickly as possible." And he slipped down the manhole.

It was very dark and dank at the bottom. But it was also empty, which was the Doctor's main concern at the moment. "Come on down!" he called. "It's quite safe!"

The two Watchers followed him down into the murky darkness of the manhole. Terri landed with an "oof" and cast a recriminating glance at the Doctor.

Switching on his lantern, the Doctor peered at the walls with interest. "Lime," he said, indicating the crystalline fuzz growing out of cracks in the brick walls. "This sewer will take us there much quicker."

"That's very nice, Doctor," said Adam, a tone of irritation in his voice.

* * *

". . . and the terror continues unabated. In recent developments, an ultimatum was delivered to all the major news agencies . . ."

"Switch it off," said the Baron, sitting in the vast and nearly empty meeting hall. Only Michel was with him.

Michel stood and turned to face his mentor. His face was glowing with pride. "We have won," he said. "They are listening to our words, they are hearing the truth! We have won!" And he threw his hands exuberantly up into the air.

The Baron chuckled and Michel dropped his hands to his sides. "We have won the first battle, my friend," he said. "But the war has just begun."

Michel felt his heart sink. "But . . . but they are frightened," he said. "And so they listen! They cannot help but to understand that we are right."

"No," said the Baron, decisively. "Society will fight back." Michel sank to the floor in distress. He had caused so many deaths this day. Could it possibly get any worse?

The Baron leapt out of his chair and knelt down before Michel. "Be strong!" he said, gripping Michel firmly by the shoulders. "You must not give up now. It is too late to turn back."

Michel nodded. -The Baron is absolutely right, he thought. I cannot go back now. "I'll try," he said, smiling wanly.

"Good," said the Baron, grinning proudly. He patted Michel reassuringly on the shoulder, but the young man was not comforted. "Have you sent out a search party yet?"

Michel was glad to talk of something else. "Yes. The prisoners should turn up any minute now."

"Good," repeated the Baron, a curious tone to his voice. "Very good indeed."

Michel blinked. For a moment, he wondered at the Baron. He'd heard something new in his mentor's voice.

It sounded an awful lot like lust.

It frightened him.

* * *

"Here we are," whispered the Doctor, poking his head up above a pile of stone. Terri and Adam both peered over the rockfall as well to see the TARDIS, standing in the middle of the high chamber they'd materialized in not twenty hours before.

-Was it really only last night? Terri asked herself. So much had happened in between that she'd quite lost track of time. "Well," she said. "What now?"

"We turn off our lanterns," said the Doctor. Terri made a face at his back. She'd already switched off her battery-operated lantern.

"I mean, what's the plan?" asked Terri.

The Doctor did not answer immediately. Adam prodded him in the shoulder. "Doctor," he said. "Time is essential, you said."

"I know," replied the Time Lord. "I was trying to work out our best approach to the TARDIS."

"I say damn the torpedos and just run for it," said Terri.

Adam grinned at her. "What ever happened to your caution, Terri?" She stuck her tongue out at him.

"There isn't time for this," interrupted the Doctor. "I think it would be best if we slip quietly along the rock wall over there, under the catwalk."

"And then what?" asked Terri.

"Then we nip into the TARDIS, pick up a few things, and go," replied the Doctor.

"Like what?" asked Adam.

"Oh, just little things. Like the dimensional stabilizer. If my suspicions are correct, we'll need it."

"And if not?" asked Adam.

The Doctor grinned and replied, "Oh, I'll think of something." Not for the first time, Terri wondered how he kept so calm in the face of such malevolence. She felt as though she were preparing to fight off an F-14 with a bow and arrow.

"So," she said, trying to sound bold in spite of her fears, "what does this dimensional thingumabobber look like?"

"It's a vital component of the TARDIS," replied the Doctor. "It's located on the underside of the console, next to the warp ellipse cut-out."

"Thanks," said Terri sarcastically. "That really helps."

"Well," said Adam, an impatient pitch to his voice, "you can show us what it looks like when we get there."

"Right," said the Doctor. He rose from his crouch behind the rock pile and began picking his way towards the TARDIS. Adam followed.

"Wait for me!" called Terri. The Doctor cast her a reproachful glance and Adam gestured frantically for her to be quiet. "Oops," she said, shrugging apologetically.

But she had no time to catch up to them.

A band of half a dozen teenage boys leapt out of hiding, ambushing Adam and the Doctor. Terri was startled to see Adam swiftly draw his sword and attempt to ward off the attackers. For one calm moment, Terri wondered where he kept the sword, since she'd never noticed it before.

"Terri!" called the Doctor, frantic.

But she was paralyzed by indecision and did not know what to do. She watched as three boys quickly overpowered the little Time Lord. "Run!" he shouted. "Save yourself!" And then one of the boys struck him on the head with a blackjack.

Terri gasped to see the Doctor fall unconscious just as easily as anyone else. She didn't know why; she supposed that she'd expected him to be somehow stronger than an ordinary man.

Adam fared no better. Apparently, the boys had been briefed on how to take him down, because instead of trying to overpower him, they simply shot him.

"No!" cried Terri as Adam fell limply to the ground. "Bastards!"

"Who's there?" barked one of the boys. Terri stood indecisively for a moment longer. Then, as four of the boys began trussing up the prisoners, the remaining two readied their weapons and moved quickly towards her position.

Without a second thought, Terri turned tail and fled into the dank darkness of the catacombs. Even the overpowering musk of centuries of decay did nothing to slow her flight.

* * *

"What about the woman?" asked Jacques as he peered into the darkness after Terri.

"Leave her," replied Luc, wrapping a length of nylon rope around the Doctor's wrists. He gestured for two of his comrades to do likewise for Adam. "These two are the only ones of consequence."

(c) 1996, Kirstin Jones (née Beall)/Calli Arcale, all rights reserved except those granted under terms of service


	9. Episode 9

**EPISODE NINE: in which good and evil do battle to the end**

The Doctor groaned, coming painfully back to consciousness. Much to his dismay, he was back in the same cell. He tried to sit up, but couldn't. His hands and feet had been tied together.

"Now how did Houdini get out of this?" he muttered to himself. As he began working at his bonds, he heard a sharp intake of breath. He craned his neck around and saw Adam stirring.

"What . . . where am I?" asked Adam. "Why am I bound?" he asked, feeling the ropes.

The Doctor sighed. "We're back in the cell, I'm afraid."

Adam slumped down against the floor. "Oh no," he said, despairingly.

The Doctor frowned. "Don't give up, man!" he said. "I met Houdini once. Taught me a few tricks."

"But you said we needed that dimensional whatsit."

"Yes," said the Doctor shortly, squirming around in an attempt to free himself. With one particularly good twist, he felt the loops around his wrists loosen, and he smiled.

"Doctor . . . ," prompted Adam.

"I think . . . I've almost . . . got . . . my hands free," said the Doctor. The ropes loosened again, and, pulling his fingers tightly together, he slipped his hands free. "There!" said the Doctor, proudly.

Adam was still looking expectantly at the Doctor. The little Time Lord sighed. He wondered briefly if he should tell Adam just how bad things really were.

No. He didn't need to worry Adam unneccesarily. It made no difference, in the end, whether the Doctor told him everything or not. It was always the same, wasn't it? A grand gamble, pitting his own luck against the terrible horrors that stood to overthrow the universe.

And now there might not be time. Unless . . .

The Doctor quickly untied his feet , walked to the door and put his ear against it. He heard a distinct cough from the other side.

"Well, my friend," he said to Adam, stooping to untie him, "I'm afraid our only hope right now is Terri."

* * *

-Why, thought Terri, in the name of everything did I run off like that? I could've done something.

A small voice at the back of her mind whispered that there was nothing she could have done. -Well, at least I'm here, she thought.

After she had fled for a minute, she had reconsidered the wisdom of fleeing blindly into the darkness. Backtracking, she had recovered her lantern but discovered that when she had dropped it in her flight, the bulb had popped.

So she'd crept quietly into the cavern, moving towards the TARDIS. The door had been locked, so she had picked up the Doctor's antique gas lantern.

That was when she had noticed the blood trail.

Following the blood, she had quickly caught up with the party carrying her two friends. Observing the route more closely this time, she had been surprised to note that it followed a very clear pattern. Keeping to the shadows, she was able to follow them all the way to the same cell they had escaped only hours before.

There were only two guards on the cell now. The others had left. Terri cursed herself for not having moved close enough to hear what they'd said. But the cell doorway she stood in had offered concealment.

-So now what? she asked herself.

Terri sank into a crouch. As she did so, she felt the Doctor's lantern strike her knee. And then she knew what to do.

The lantern was fueled by white gas. Terri grinned mischievously as she unscrewed the pump on the side of the lantern and began pumping. She was rewarded with a hissing noise as the pressure built up inside the lantern. Now she was glad to be out of earshot.

When she judged the pressure was high enough, she struck the flint hanging from the lantern. Suddenly, a brilliant light filled the corridor. -This better work, she thought to herself.

"Who's there?" called one of the guards. "Show yourself!"

Terri grinned but did not answer. Slowing standing, she gathered up her courage and flung the lantern around the lip of the doorway and at the two guards.

The lantern exploded on impact.

Terri peered around the doorway to see both guards reeling on the floor, covering their eyes.

"I'm blind, I'm blind!" cried one. "Oh, God, I can't see!" The other only whimpered wordlessly.

Terri winced for a moment as she watched their agony. She knelt down by the first guard. She winced again when she realized that he, like all the others was only a boy.

"Oh, God . . ." he sobbed.

"I . . . I'm sorry," said Terri. "But I had to do it."

The boy did not answer. So Terri took his gun and searched him quickly. Biting her lip, she turned to the other boy, who was whimpering uncontrollably and clutching spasmodically at his eyes. So she took his gun too. A quick search revealed the key to the cell.

"I'm sorry," she said again to the two boys, aware that neither of them was in a state to comprehend her. And she turned and unlocked the cell.

She pushed the door open.

"Terri!" called a familiar voice. She turned to see Adam smiling with joy and disbelief. Relief filled her heart, threatening to overwhelm her.

"Oh, thank God!" she said. Without another word, she grabbed Adam and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm so glad you're all right!"

"Ahem," said a voice behind her. Terri remembered the Doctor and disengaged guiltily from Adam. She turned and smiled to see the little Time Lord.

He frowned at her. For a moment, Terri remembered that he'd told her to run away and worried that he was angry. But then his face broke into a broad grin.

"That was well done, Terri," he said, a peculiar catch in his voice. His eyes became very distant. Terri wondered what he was thinking of. After a moment, he brought his eyes back to Terri. "You remind me . . . of someone I once knew."

Terri was surprised to hear a kind of pain in his voice. But the Doctor did not give her time to ask about it.

"We've got work to do," he said, all pain gone, replaced by a fresh resolve. "Now, Terri, this is what I want you to do . . ."

* * *

Sitting in the darkness behind Michel, the Baron smiled happily. It had been some hours since the terror in the department store and the terror in the metro. And his horrible thirst for terror had been slaked most wondrously.

But now he felt the thirst again. -No matter, he thought to himself. Soon shall come the greatest terror of all.

And the sacrifice.

The Baron smiled a vampiric smile and laughed out loud, startling a rat. He grinned, watching the rat flee, squeaking in terror.

And a thought struck the Baron. A rat is like a mouse. And what plays with mice? A cat!

Cat and mouse . . .

He grinned again, his bicolor eyes glittering with anticipation. Leaning forward, he whispered a command in Michel's ear.

"Jean!" called Michel. One of the boys came near. "Fetch the prisoners!"

As Jean saluted and left, the Baron grinned with pleasurable anticipation.

* * *

"Where are you taking us?" asked Adam.

The boys answered by pulling hard on the new ropes around Adam's wrists. One of the boys - the red-head named Jean - turned and spat at Adam's feet. "That's for what you did to Guillaume and Thomas!" And he turned insolently away.

"We'll find out soon enough, Adam" the Doctor said grimly. "But if I'm not very much mistaken, we're going to meet the director of this sick drama."

Adam turned to look the Doctor in the eye. "The Baron?" he asked.

"Yes," said the Doctor. "The Baron. Just keep your fingers crossed."

Adam nodded and fell silent. He did not speak again for the rest of the journey.

After some time, they arrived in the same vast spray-painted hall as before. There were very few people this time; only Michel and a handful of armed teenagers. Almost immediately, Adam Sensed the Baron's presence. His heart sank. In all his millenia, he had never encountered anything like the Baron. He was afraid.

"Welcome!" called the Baron, his sinister voice echoing throughout the cavernous room.

"So you've dropped the pretense then, Baron?" asked the Doctor cheerfully, his bright voice cutting through the sense of doom that permeated the room. Adam regarded the little Time Lord with surprise. His spirits had lifted considerably.

The Baron stepped out of the darkness behind Michel. He was frowning, perhaps at the Doctor's audacity.

"You know nothing, alien fool." The Baron sneered as he approached them.

"Really?" asked the Doctor calmly. "And what do you know?"

The Baron swelled at this remark. Adam became afraid for the Doctor. There was no way this strange little man could stand off someone like the Baron.

But the Doctor did not flinch. "Go ahead," he said daringly.

For a moment, the Baron appeared to take the Doctor's dare, his eyes narrowing. But then he smiled and the mood was shattered.

"Very clever, Doctor," he said, "but not clever enough. You think you could beat me at my own game!" The Baron threw back his head and laughed. Adam felt a chill in his heart. "Don't worry," he said, sobering, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. "There'll be time for you later."

The Baron spun around to face Adam.

"You," he said. Adam's eyes grew wide. The Baron smiled horribly. Without turning his eyes from Adam, he said, "Jean, free them." The ropes fell to the floor. Adam began chafing the blood back into his hands.

"Thank you," he said.

The Baron grinned. "You're welcome, my friend. Jacques!" he called. A boy came forward, carrying Adam's sword. The boy extended it to Adam, hilt first.

Adam looked to the Doctor, who shrugged. Frowning suspiciously, he took the sword and turned to face the Baron again.

The Baron's green and black eyes were glittering. "Now," he said, "I believe your kind have a custom called the Game."

* * *

Moving as quickly as she could without calling attention to herself, Terri ran lightly down the corridor, the TARDIS key swinging wildly from her hand. She was clutching a piece of incomprehensible equipment to her chest; apparently it was the dimensional stabilizer. Terri only hoped she'd taken the right bit out of the TARDIS.

There was a brighter light ahead. Terri devoutly hoped it was the main chamber.

Pushing her legs a bit harder, Terri reached an archway, concealed behind a large mound of stolen goods. -Good, she thought, remembering the stolen goods from her last unfortunate trip to this spot.

Setting the dimensional stabilizer down, Terri peered over the mound. She saw the Doctor, Adam, and the Baron, all together. Michel stood uncertainly back. Adam stood facing the Baron. And he was holding a sword.

The Baron was saying something. Adam nodded in reply. The Doctor began waving his arms, signaling "no" very clearly. However, Adam did not see him.

Terri bit her lip. She picked up the stabilizer and crept around the pile of appliances and electrical equipment, trying to get close enough to hear what was going on. She stopped when her cover ran out.

But it was far enough.

The Baron was speaking. "I would like to try this Game of yours," he said. Terri started as he drew his own sword.

The Doctor was still gesturing frantically. This time, Adam noticed. She sighed with relief.

But Adam shook his head and said, "No, Doctor. I must." Terri's heart fell as she watched Adam bring his sword into position.

The Baron smiled and leapt into battle. Adam parried skillfully and returned with a feint and a thrust. The Baron managed to parry, but lost ground.

"Yes!" whispered Terri.

The fight continued. The Baron was good, but so was Adam. Indeed, it seemed that Adam was the better of the two. Reassured, Terri spared a glance at the Doctor.

And she gasped, for the Doctor looked very worried. He was shaking his head and whispering something under his breath.

She turned back to watch the fight. The Baron was not doing well. He had entirely lost the offensive. It was only a matter of time before Adam overpowered him. But Terri was no longer so sure of the outcome.

Adam had managed to drive the Baron back against a wall. In two strokes, he had the dark man disarmed and pinned against the stone masonry. "Give up," he said, pressing the edge of his sword against the Baron's throat.

But the Baron smiled. And the Baron laughed. And he said, "You have served your purpose, old one. I tire of this sport."

Suddenly, the Baron was free. Terri started, for she had not seen him move free. Adam looked just as surprised.

Terri turned to look at the Doctor. He was clutching his head. Terri did not have time to puzzle this over, for the sound of metal on metal had distracted her attention.

The battle was turning very much in the opposite direction now. The Baron was lashing out with dazzling speed. It was obvious that he had been toying with Adam before.

"Stop!" shouted the Doctor, his voice ringing through the chamber. He was still clutching at his head, but there was a resolution in his eyes.

To Terri's immense surprise, the Baron did stop, after pausing to disarm Adam.

"You have something to say, little man?" he said.

The Doctor stepped forward. His headache appeared to pass, for he lowered his hand as he approached the Baron. "Yes," he said. Terri shivered, for his voice was as hard as stone. "I know who you are."

The Baron appeared amused. "Do you?" he said.

The Doctor nodded solemnly. "Oh yes. My people have been to your world, a very long time ago."

The Baron did not respond, but appeared uncomfortable for the first time.

"Doctor," said Adam, "what are you talking about?"

The Doctor did not take his eyes from the Baron. But he answered Adam. Terri shivered as she listened. "Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a ruler. A man who ruled a world which had only just recently discovered interstellar travel. This ruler was an evil man, and many times people had tried to overthrow him. But always he won. But one day, an alien woman came down to his world, an alien whose technology was so advanced that he had no hope of defeating her.

"Now, like all evil people, the man was afraid of competition. So he used his cunning instead of his weapons to defeat the alien. He was very nice to her, got her to teach him all about her technology, and then, when she wasn't looking, he killed her. And then he used her technology to make himself stronger. And stronger, and stronger, and stronger.

"He became time sensitive. And telepathic. But he also became quite mad. When the alien's people investigated her disappearance, they found a world enslaved to an madman who fed psychically on their terror.

"Ordinarily, they would not have interfered. But my people felt responsible for this mad Baron having developed the ability to manipulate Time to a small extent. So they attacked, destroying all his work, all his notes, and crushing his cruel empire.

"But the Baron fled. He fled the planet in a tiny spacecraft, built by his own people. No one knew what became of him."

-Now we know, thought Terri grimly.

"So, Doctor," said the Baron, his voice little more than a whisper. "You are a Time Lord."

"You're finished, Baron," said the Doctor. "Dead and gone."

Adam began creeping away from the two, in the direction of his sword. Terri stood, holding the dimensional stabilizer in her hands, gathering herself to sprint out to the Doctor.

"No," whispered the Baron. "No. No! I will not allow it!" And he raised his arm, pointing directly at the Doctor. "I will kill you first, little man!"

The Baron moved closer, forcing the Doctor to look up to him. But the difference in height did not seem important to Terri. For the Doctor stood unfazed, glaring silently into the Baron's eyes.

Terri dashed out from behind the mound. Before she had gone five paces, however, a boy stepped out in front of her, pointing his AK47 directly at her. She came to a halt. -Great, she thought. Now what?

"No," said a voice.

Terri turned, surprised. It was Michel. "There will be no more killing today." There was an authority in his voice, but also a kind of regret. He smiled sadly at her. "I was wrong to follow the mad Baron, wasn't I?"

Terri watched, amazed, as Michel turned and began walking towards the Baron. The dark man was still silent, locked in some sort of psychic battle with the Doctor.

"Mon Baron!" cried Michel. "I have something to say to you!"

The Baron did not answer.

Michel strode right up to him and struck him on the shoulder. "Baron!" he shouted, right in the man's ear. "We shall follow you no more. You are nothing!"

And the Baron started. "What?" he whispered, breaking his gaze from the Doctor.

Then the Baron cried out once and collapsed.

The Doctor dashed to his side, examining the unconscious Baron. He looked up and saw Terri. "Quickly!" he said.

Terri ran to the Doctor's side. She set the dimensional stabilizer down beside him. Without a word, he began spinning dials, muttering incomprehensibly beneath his breath.

"There," he said at last, throwing a switch. "That should do it."

A strange blue haze suddenly wrapped itself around the Baron. Colors twisted across its surface, dazzling Terri. Within seconds, the Baron's body shriveled away, finally collapsing into sparkling dust, which was absorbed by the curious haze with a crackling sound.

The Doctor threw a few more switches and the haze vanished. He sat there for a few moments, then looked up at Terri. "Well," he said. "That's that then."

"You mean . . . the Baron is finally dead?" asked Adam.

The Doctor nodded. "Yes."

"But I don't understand," said Terri. "How did you do it?"

The little Time Lord stood, picking up the dimensional stabilizer. "To put it simply, all I did was create a static field of extreme temporal stability. Since his ability to manipulate time depended on unstable causality, his body tried to fight off the stabilizer. It couldn't, so it ended up shaking itself apart."

Terri moved next to Adam and whispered, "That's putting it simply?" Adam chuckled in reply.

"Doctor," called Michel. "I . . . I have a question."

"Oh, don't worry about it," replied the Doctor. "You'll do just fine."

Michel nodded, but did not seem satisfied with the Doctor's answer. "But what do we do now?"

The Doctor smiled sadly. "You'll have to find that out for yourself. In the meantime, I suggest you keep out of sight until things settle down a bit." He put a hand on Michel's shoulder, reassuringly. "Trust me. You'll do a lot of good." And the little Time Lord turned and set off in the direction of the TARDIS.

"Don't worry," said Terri. "I'm sure he knows what he's talking about."

Michel nodded. "There is much to be done," he said. "And I think I have a few ideas of how to do it."

"Good luck," said Terri, pausing to shake his hand before turning to follow the Doctor.

"Any idea where we're going?" asked Adam.

"Better ask the Doctor," replied Terri, grinning. And they left together.

(c) 1996, Kirstin Jones (née Beall)/Calli Arcale, all rights reserved except those granted under terms of service


	10. Episode 10

**EPISODE TEN: epilogue**

The late afternoon sun shone blindingly off the Seine, causing Terri to turn away from the bridge railing. She smiled at her companions. Adam smiled back. The Doctor was still staring off over the river, an incomprehensible emotion in his eyes. Terri wondered how he could stare so long at the sun and not blink.

A child's disappointed cry caught Terri's ear. She turned towards the sound. A little boy was staring up with tears in his eyes, watching a yellow balloon float up out of sight.

Before Terri could do anything, the Doctor had stepped away and was striding towards the child.

"Did you lose your balloon?" asked the Doctor.

The little boy nodded, mutely. He stuck his finger in his mouth.

"Did you lose your family, too?" asked the Doctor.

The little boy nodded again, the tears beginning again.

"There, there," said the Doctor, whipping out a handkerchief and wiping the tears away. He looked up and around, eventually spotting something. Terri followed his gaze and saw a frantic Frenchwoman running across the square at the end of the bridge. "Is that your maman?" the Doctor asked the little boy.

The boy nodded. The tears were gone and he was smiling now.

"Well, let's go to her, shall we?"

The boy's face lit up with joy. The Doctor had to run to keep up with him. Terri stifled an affectionate chuckle. By the time the Doctor had reached the boy's mother, he was out of earshot, so she turned to Adam.

"Well," she said.

"Well, what?" asked Adam, leaning back against the rail.

"I wonder what happens next," she replied. "I . . . I'm going to miss him, Adam."

Adam smiled. "Somehow, I don't think he'll be gone for long."

Terri chuckled. "I know what you mean." She turned, gazing at the little Time Lord, rapidly conversing with the little boy's mother. "I wonder . . . ," she began, musing to herself.

"Wonder what?" asked Adam. Terri started. She had not realized that she was thinking out loud.

"I wonder what it's like," she replied. She turned back to Adam. "Being him," she added.

Adam nodded cryptically, but did not answer.

"I mean . . . he seems so lonely sometimes. And the things he's seen, the things he must have done to be the way he is . . ."

Terri was very surprised to see Adam shudder. He closed his eyes and turned away. "Yes," he said. There was a curious weight to his voice. Suddenly Terri remembered who Adam really was and felt her heart grow cold.

Embarrased, Terri turned to face the river again. The sun had gone behind a cloud and was no longer blindingly bright. "I wonder what it's like, travelling from world to world all the time . . ."

"You'd better not say, 'boldly going where no one has gone before.'" said a voice at Terri's elbow. She jumped, startled.

"Doctor," she said, turning around and fixing the little Time Lord with a glare. He grinned winningly back at her. Terri found herself smiling too.

"Well," said the Doctor. "It's time to say good bye."

Terri met the Doctor's eyes. And all of a sudden, she knew that she couldn't say good bye. Not yet.

"Doctor," said Terri, "I . . . I don't know how to say this, but . . ."

A grin broke across the Doctor's face. "Of course you may," he replied.

Terri frowned. "But you don't know what I was going to say," she protested.

He smiled fondly at her. "But the TARDIS did," he replied. "I think she's lonely. If you want to travel with me, you are more than welcome."

Terri wondered for a moment if it was the Doctor who was lonely and not his ship. But she knew better than to ask.

"I would love to!" she replied, grinning from ear to ear. The Doctor smiled happily back at her.

"If I might ask . . . ," said Adam.

"I'm sorry," said Terri. "I didn't mean to ignore you."

"I was just wondering what I'm supposed to tell everyone else while you're off travelling the universe."

"Oh, dear," said Terri. "I hadn't thought about that."

"Don't worry," said the Doctor brightly. "The TARDIS is a time machine, isn't she? When you want to come home, just tell me and we'll come right back here and now. You won't have missed a thing."

Terri grinned happily. "Deal!" she replied. She stuck out her hand. The Doctor shook it vigorously.

"So," she said, turning back to Adam. "I guess I have to say goodbye too, now."

"Only for you. I'll see you again tomorrow," replied Adam. "Unless you decide not to come back at all."

Terri could not decipher the emotion in his voice. "Don't worry," she replied. "I'll come back." She bit her lip, then stepped close to Adam. "I'll miss you," she said. "You know that, don't you?"

He smiled back at her. She felt very relieved. Impulsively, she threw her arms around him. She hugged him for some time. "You take care of yourself, Methos," she whispered.

"Ahem," said the Doctor. Terri stepped back. "Good bye," said the Doctor, extending his hand to Adam. Adam took it. "I'm sure we'll meet again."

"Good bye, Doctor," replied Adam. "And good bye Terri. Try not to have too much fun." He smiled once, then turned and walked away across the bridge. He did not turn back.

"Well, Terri," said the Doctor. "I think it's time we were off." And he set off towards the TARDIS.

Terri grinned. "Where to first?" she asked, following.

The Doctor grinned back at her. "Perhaps a relaxing visit to the Eye of Orion. Or a pleasant dip in the seas of Tiberius III. Or . . ."

"Doctor . . .," said Terri. They had arrived at the TARDIS. "Why don't you just decide for me?"

The Doctor grinned at her. "All right!" he said, holding the door open for her. Terri shook her head, chuckling, and walked past him into the TARDIS.

* * *

The door closed behind them. With a shake and a rumble, the battered police box slowly faded from reality. A moment later, it reappeared.

"Blast it," said a voice from within.

"Now what?" asked another voice.

"I have a better idea," replied the first voice. "Why don't we let the TARDIS decide?"

(c) 1996, Kirstin Jones (née Beall)/Calli Arcale, all rights reserved except those granted under terms of service


	11. Postscript

_Author's Postscript:_

 _Thank you for reading! This was my first full-length fanfic (not the first I attempted, but the first I completed), and I'm happy with it. If you want to read an MST3K version of it, head over to my wordpress blog "Fractal Wonder" and search on "Masque of the Baron" - I can't post the MST version here, but it lives on over there._

 _However, if you want to read more about Terri Johnson, the Doctor, and of course the Really Old Guy (Methos), hop along to the sequel, "Minnehaha Falls", which I have also published here on . THat's a short one; it's followed by another full-length story, "The Resurrection of Evil", and then I will shortly be posting yet another story: "Shadow of the Daleks", and then I've got yet another in the works now. So if you liked this, there's more where it comes from!_

 _Thanks for reading!_


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